


Welcome to the Party, Pal

by Elle_gy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ...Lance...McClain..., Diehard AU, It had to happen..., M/M, The 80s AU, Yippy Kay Yay, motherfucker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_gy/pseuds/Elle_gy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the first time Lance McClain, NYPD, has not been the most interesting party crasher in the room. He had to give the terrorists credit, though, the machine guns and explosives did upstage his blazer pretty soundly. </p><p>Diehard AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Party, Pal

**Author's Note:**

> Lance's last name occasionally being McClain is as good a reason as any to write a Diehard AU. Keith is Holly, obviously (kinda).

The last thing Lance McClain, NYPD, wants to do this Christmas Eve is to spend it at some fancy-schamncy corporate party. But when his little sister asks him for something in that god-awful sweet voice she’s known how to use since she could just barely speak, he can’t exactly say _no._

Besides, Lance reasons, there are worse places to be than at some upscale little get-together, getting drunk off somebody else’s liquor. He could be getting drunk off his own _cheap as fuck_ alcohol, and although his own tiny New York apartment is much more comfortable than a hotel in LA, there is much less of a chance he might bring home someone pretty to – ahem – make more holiday cheer with.

And speaking of holiday cheer, dear God is his little Anastasia doing well for herself. He doesn’t know precisely what his baby sister’s doing for Altea Tech, but she must be doing alright if the corporation is willing to fly in her cop brother for some dumb Christmas party.

Well, it will give him a chance to scowl at her new boyfriend a little. And to flirt with all her posh coworkers - both things he’s really rather fond of doing.

His flight is uneventful, but his drive less so. Altea Tech’s arranged his transportation. Get this – it’s a _limo._ Talk about VIP. He ain’t ever gonna let Ana live this one down. His driver’s named Argyle (why doesn’t he get a cool name like that?) and he reminds Lance a lot of himself ten years ago. They start chatting easily, lost in the rhythm of the highway and Argyle’s (loud) music selection.

They pull into the Altea High rise parking garage, and Lance is overwhelmed with the shiny glass and steel, all decorated glittery and rich. He interrupts Argyle’s excellent beats for the first time the whole drive.

“Buddy, maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“What do you mean it’s not a good idea? Weren’t you goin on about bringing home some pretty rich thing?”

“Well, I’m not saying I got cold feet but – .”

“You got cold feet.”

“Ha, whoo boy, this whole thing is starting to look a little fancier than I know how to deal with.”

“People are just people, not matter how many dollars they flesh out for a suit. Besides, you’re sister’s in there, right? Can’t let her down.”

“Well, you’re right about that. Guess I’ll just have to tough it out?”

“How about I cut you a deal, ok?”

“I’m always looking for deals, man.”

“You go in there, have a good time, chat up a gal or two. I’ll hang out down here, I don’t got nowhere to be. If I don’t hear from you in an hour, I’ll head out. If things just aren’t working out, give me a call back down here and I’ll take you to a hotel in a more…comfortable part of town. Sounds good?”

It sounds great, actually.

“I owe you one, man.”

“Merry Christmas, man. Now go beat up your sister’s boyfriend.”

 

Lance is escorted into the building by a sort of…butler….guy who brings him to a private bathroom. Lance raises an eyebrow at that. “To…change?” the man suggests, eyeing Lance’s blue-jeans rather condescendingly. Lance shrugs and takes his suitcase into the bathroom, he supposes he could put the one blazer he brought (and the only one he owns, incidentally) overtop his t-shirt and jeans ensemble. Besides – blazer over t-shirt, that’s like vogue right now, right?

If his escort has anything to say about his ensemble shift, he chooses not to say in in favor of bringing Lance to the party.

The party itself is thankfully underwhelming. While the decorations, food, _wine_ are all more highscale than he even knows how to comprehend, he quickly spots Ana and that grounds him. She looks absolutely luminous. She’s perming her hair now and she’s wearing a powerful, sleek suit that screams success. Tears sprout in the corner of her eyes when she finally notices Lance, sauntering in underdressed with a wine glass already in hand. He’s already smiling from watching her from afar, and his grin cracks open wider as she falls into his arms.

“Not too bad for a stinky little sister, Ana.”

“Lance,” she beams up at him, “You came! It’s been five years. Five years, fart face-” she stops herself, suddenly remembering she’s surrounded by coworkers. It seems none of them have really noticed, or cared, until –

“Haven’t heard that one, Ana.” The voice is good-natured _enough_ , but a slickness in the tone makes Lance sneer. He looks up from his reunion to see a man hovering behind Ana, two champagne flutes in hand. His blonde hair is slicked back, his burgundy suit is pressed to perfection, and Lance already _hates him._

“Marty!” Ana says, still clinging to Lance’s side, “This is my big brother, Lance! The one I was telling you about.”

“Marty Foschee,” he says, nodding in Lance’s direction, “I’m a top project manager here. You?”

Lance scratches the back of his head in a mimicry of nonchalance. “Me?” he responds innocently.

Ana tugs away from him, looking at the two apologetically. “Laura’s calling me, I think they’re getting ready for toasts. Chat for a minute, ok? You’re good at that, Lance.”

“Hey!” Lance laughs after his retreating sister. He turns back around and his smile dies.

“What do you do?” Marty Fuck-schee raises an eyebrow.

“Cop. NYPD.”

“Hmm,” he hums appraisingly, and then apparently decides not good enough, because he turns away without another word in the direction that Ana left.

It leaves Lance fuming, but he decides it’s too early and he’s not drunk enough yet to clock the guy.

So maybe he should begin the second half of the evening, using his god-given wit and charm to find his way into someone’s pants –

Oh.

Oh no.

He thought it couldn’t get any worse than Marty Fo-shit over there, but you can count on baby jesus to lay on the trials of virtue in any given situation.

Against a far wall, removed from the festivities but still in range, Keith fucking ass shit Kogane is leaning and surveying. It’s been ten years since the academy but Lance would recognize that – well, that everything – anywhere. The little shit is wearing all black, as per usually (a turtleneck? In LA?), and, if the length of his ponytail was anything to judge by, still sporting that gross mullet. A headset peeking out from fluffy bangs cements the fact that Keith is probably here on business, not that Lance could ever imagine that unsocial dick at a party for _pleasure._

Well, Lance has some choice words for him. And, after ten years, he certainly isn’t going to let this opportunity pass by him.

 

 

 

 


End file.
